You might well arsk, to quote John Lennon 😀
so many reasons. so many, that I’m having trouble getting my thoughts in order. There’s the image of my chubby little self in grade 5, so enamoured with “Anne of Avonlea” that I wrote a 20 minute long book report that was supposed to be five. There’s the memory of my ex-husband, after reading a note of complaint I’d left lying on the table for him one day 30 years ago, saying “Writing is your genius”, and all the notes from teachers and professors post high school telling me I should write more. There’s that warm glow of intense satisfaction from having an idea circling around and around in my head for days and finally getting it out, and down, as concisely and accurately said as I can manage it. There’s the dawning wake-up call since my 60th birthday last November that, although a bout with cancer at age 37 convinced me that none of us are getting out of here alive, I was now beginning the slide down the other side of the hill. (Inside, I still feel the way I’ve always felt! the mirror is a shock, every day). Suddenly unrealized dreams and some-day’s and I’m-not-good-enough-yets  and familial stay-small-and-stay-safes have forced their way out from sub-consciousness to be heard, and questioned, and met with new found compassion. There is, most poignantly, the relaxing of the fear of being heard. There’s too much to share. I want to connect. With you. With the world. Let’s have some real conversations. Let’s talk about and feel into what it is to be human. Let’s talk about the nitty-gritty, the suffering and quiet joy and finding out what (maybe not who) we really are, with bare-naked honesty and willingness and vulnerability.
What are we, really?
couragetofalldotcom 